


Undefeated

by scheherazade



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-06
Updated: 2007-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-06 18:15:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scheherazade/pseuds/scheherazade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fuji Syuusuke goes to Hyoutei, and life is not the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undefeated

The breeze feels good today. Fuji leans back a bit and lets the whisper of air flow over his face, around his neck, gently stroking fine strands of brown hair as it passes. He takes a breath, and the scent of blossoming flowers fills his senses. He opens his eyes, and the crystal blue sky is mirrored within his gaze.

Footsteps crunching over the walkway alert him to the arrival of his teammates. Atobe tilts his face upward at just the right angle for the sunlight to form a glowing halo around his hair, and everything about him is beautiful, even if it reeks of an almost sickening self-confidence.

"Really, Fuji, I don't see why you refused to come with the rest of us," his captain says as soon as he is within a reasonable hearing range. "The train cannot be more comfortable than a private bus."

Fuji chuckles. "Maybe I prefer to arrive in a less conspicuous manner," he replies, looking pointedly at the girls already starting to drift toward them, gravitating toward Atobe as if he is the center of their universe. Perhaps he is.

If Atobe is the type to snort, he might have at that moment. However, with reality being what it is, Atobe merely shrugs casually and beckons for all of them to follow him. "Let's go," he says, voice carrying clearly. "Everyone is waiting for us."

They follow him -- not as a pack of sheep, but as a team, prideful and willful, their eyes set only on victory. Fuji falls into step beside Oshitari, closing his eyes and smiling as the breeze whispers in his ear.

It is a beautiful day for the first round of the Kantou Tournament.

\- - -

He is not altogether sure what to expect from them. Looking across the net at the beginning of the match, all he sees is determination written in the set of their mouths and the looks in their eyes, the way they stand tall and unyielding, not unmovable like a mountain, but irrevocable as the sea, burning with a flame he has not expected from this team.

So. This is Seishun Gakuen.

Fuji has watched many of their matches this year as well as in those past. He has seen indomitable spirit and deadly play. He has seen a formidable opponent.

Despite all that, he has not borne the full brunt of that presence until now, facing them from across the net.

It is a feeling that sends a thrill racing down his spine. He opens his eyes fully and lets the bright sunlight fill his vision, illuminating and sharpening each and every image that appears before him.

The first three sets pass in a blur of color and motion. Fuji remembers every detail, and yet he remembers nothing. There is only the intensity crackling along his nerves, setting him on edge, capturing his attention and setting it free. All in one breath.

Breathe, he reminds himself, as Oshitari and Mukahi lose to Momoshiro's scheming. Breathe. Ohtori and Shishido are pushed into a corner by Inui's data tennis, but come through with the victory. Breathe. Seigaku's Kawamura Takashi dares to gamble with the Hadoukyuu, all for the sake of his team and the victory.

Breathe again, and it is his turn to step up. Would the players please come forward, the referee calls. We will now begin the Singles Two match.

\- - -

"Game and set! Won by Echizen, seven games to six!"

Fuji stretches out his hand to Echizen across the net. "Good game, Echizen-kun."

Echizen glances at him from under the shadow of his cap and shakes his hand briefly. "Aa."

Fuji wants to hold onto that small hand, calloused by tennis, damp with sweat -- but he refrains. Echizen is not Atobe. He is not Gakuto. He is not one of Fuji's teammates, one of his friends, predictable and manageable. He itches to unravel that enigma, to learn what lies behind those tawny eyes and that expression of extreme boredom.

He has to smile as the observation flits across his mind. Even in his boredom, Fuji thinks, Echizen Ryoma radiates a level of intensity.

"You didn't go all out for the victory." Atobe raises an eyebrow at him as Fuji walks back to the bench, accepting a towel -- not from Ohtori, but Oshitari. Fuji resists the urge to mirror Atobe's arrogantly questioning look and, instead, focuses on giving absolutely no reaction to Atobe's words. 

The mild smile stays in place as he replies, "I gave as much effort as the situation required." A sharper smile is thrown in Atobe's direction. "I would worry more about this next match, if I were you."

"Fortunately for all of us, you are _not_ me," Atobe replies with an elegant smirk. Fuji still wonders, at times, how a smirk can be elegant -- but then again, Atobe is a law unto himself. "Prepare to be awed by Ore-sama's beautiful play."

If he has bothered to keep track, this would be the 437th time that Fuji has heard Atobe say this particular catch phrase. Of course, Fuji Syuusuke does _not_ keep track, no matter how tempting it is to weave himself into a little corner of this world that Atobe Keigo has created, and stake such a petty claim as the number of times that Atobe repeats himself.

Egotists really are quite amusing, Fuji thinks as he watches Atobe pick up his racquet and all but glide toward the court. Especially when they have the skill to almost justify their self-worship.

We will now begin the Singles One match, the referee announces. Players, please come forward.

\- - -

Fuji's eyes are like the edge of a knife pressed against his throat as Atobe walks back to the Hyoutei bench.

"Are you satisfied?" Fuji asks, his voice heavy and calm as the moments of stillness before a storm's breaking. Atobe says nothing in reply, just accepts the towel that Kabaji hands to him. He spends a moment looking for his water bottle -- before realizing that Fuji has it in his hand, and does not look like he is about to hand it over at any time in the near future unless Atobe specifically asks for it.

Damn all geniuses and their difficult moods. Atobe's jaw tightens. He is not giving in to Fuji. Not this time. Not even if Fuji's words ring uncomfortably true with the thoughts plaguing his own mind right now.

He glances across the court to where Seigaku is gathered around the coach's bench. Tezuka is hidden from view, but Atobe knows exactly where the other boy is -- right in the center of that blue and white knot of anxiety.

He can feel Fuji's gaze prickling at the edge of his senses like so many sharp needles. And his blue eyes still ask that same question, still hold the same, unspoken accusation.

_Are you satisfied?_

No, he is not satisfied. He is far, far from satisfied. He has not expected this from Tezuka, has never expected this level of reckless passion from the calm, collected captain of Seigaku. Never expected this determination. This unbreakable, untouchable determination that is Tezuka Kunimitsu.

Atobe feels his hands clenching into fists, nails digging into the flesh of his palms. That stubborn _fool_. He knows what the long game will mean for his arm, and yet he chooses it anyway, heedless of his own body's limits. There is no doubt in his mind that Tezuka will want to continue the match despite his injured arm. 

And if the match continues, Tezuka may never play tennis again. 

He is throwing away his own health for the sake of stubbornness, for that damned determination. He is throwing away a professional career for a junior high tennis tournament. Throwing it all away. And for what?

Tennis is his life right now -- Atobe can understand that well enough -- but it is _tennis_. It can never replace reality.

This is madness, he thinks, here and now on this early summer day, sunlight drenching the courts with a piercing brightness that burns the eyes. 

He sees Tezuka get up, watches as he walks onto the court, racquet in hand, stoic determination written in every line of his body.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Tezuka says, and Atobe can feel the world begin to crack along its seams. "Let's finish this."

\- - -

This is the expected conclusion. Even though it takes six matches to decide it, the victor is, of course, Hyoutei. 

And Fuji knows, even before Hiyoshi wipes the court with Arai, that he will not be joining the team for whatever celebration Atobe has planned.

He waits until all the other players have left, standing alone at the bus stop, watching the buses come and go before finally boarding one headed for Hanno General Hospital.

When he arrives at his destination, Fuji makes no move to go inside. Instead, he waits beside the automatic doors, watching the sunlight glow warmly against the glass. Somewhere beyond those gold-tinted panes, he muses, Tezuka Kunimitsu is speaking with a doctor, his coach at his side. 

Fuji can imagine the scene: Tezuka sits in the chair before the doctor who speaks in grave -- perhaps regretful -- tones, telling his patient the results of the examination.

Fuji would like to believe that the injury Tezuka has suffered is temporary and readily reversible; that, in a few months, Tezuka Kunimitsu will be able to play tennis as well as before; that this episode will pass as a fragment of memory, while Tezuka moves on to the future he deserves.

That is idealistic thinking, of course. Reality is not so easily predicted.

Fuji shifts the strap of his tennis bag as it begins to dig into his shoulder blade. He watches the sunlight melt into a deep orange like overripe persimmons, thick and heavy as it oozes over the asphalt pavement, dragging black shadows in its wake. He studies the way his own hands are touched with the fading gold of sundown. It is just the way of life, that brightness is inevitably followed by darkness. Fires burn out, leaving only impotent ash.

The sound of automatic doors swooshing open pulls his attention back to the present. An elderly woman walks out, giving him a curious glance before continuing on her way.

Fuji lets his hand drop to his side and looks up to the darkening sky. He should go home before his parents call the police to look for him, but it is hard to pull himself away from the hospital wall.

Waiting here is foolishness, he knows. Tezuka may already have left, long before Fuji arrived. Tezuka may never have come here at all, and he is waiting outside the doors for an imagined shadow, rehearsing a conversation that will never come to pass.

_"Hyoutei's Fuji-kun?"_

_"Aa. I came to see how you're doing. And to apologize, I suppose -- on Atobe's behalf."_

_"Without his permission, I would assume."_

_A laugh. "You know him well."_

_A shrug. A silence._

_"That was a beautiful game, Tezuka-kun. You didn't lose."_

...And then? His thoughts stop at that point. Fuji has no way of knowing how Tezuka Kunimitsu would react in such a situation. Atobe is more suited to reading Seigaku's stoic captain.

There is no point, musing on a mystery. Men become entrapped in their own thoughts and fantasies, driving themselves to madness. Reality is safer, though mundane.

Fuji pushes himself away from the wall and begins to walk back to the bus stop. He looks back one last time at those hospital doors, imagining the outline of a man that he will never know.

\- - -

He usually sees Tezuka in the hall in the mornings, before the first bell, running into him by his locker, waving to him at the classroom door.

Today, there is no one standing there, no one putting away his Japanese Literature text and taking out a science notebook. Tezuka has science first block on Wednesdays. But today Tezuka is not here. He won't be here for...days. Weeks. Maybe even a few months. Oishi doesn't know how long Tezuka's rehab will take, and Ryuuzaki-sensei doesn't seem inclined to enlighten anyone anytime in the near future.

Eiji flicks him on the forehead that morning as he stands by his classroom door, staring down the hall at the empty space in front of Tezuka's locker.

"You look like someone hit you with a board, Oishi." Eiji grins, then raises an eyebrow. "Hey, what's the matter?"

"N-Nothing," he stammers, and offers a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Just... It's nothing."

The season is over for Seigaku's boys tennis team, as far as the administration is concerned. Their road has ended at the first round of the Kantou Tournament. Oishi stares at the notebook page in math class, finding himself strangely unwilling to take down a single note. The curve of the function only reminds him of the path of a lob. The numbers are points, slowly racking up, game after game...

He wanted to win, wanted to bring the team to victory as much as Tezuka did. But then, his injured wrist... 

_Stupid. So stupid! If only I hadn't been so careless... We could have won..._

The matches replay soundlessly in his mind like clips of a black and white movie. Inui and Kaidou had a decent chance of defeating Hyoutei's Oshitari-Mukahi pair. Inui has plenty of data on those two. He and Eiji could have taken on Ohtori and Shishido. Those two have a strong combination, but he and Eiji still have more experience in doubles.

They could have won. Then with Echizen's victory over Fuji... Tezuka would never have had to play. Then he would still be here, with them, leading them onward, and Seigaku would be advancing in the Kantou Tournament.

Seigaku, and not Hyoutei. Seigaku, the team that Yamato-buchou left to them, the team that Tezuka built up to its peak.

He stares down at the notebook page, at the faint "Seigaku" he has traced in the margins with number two pencil.

Oishi shakes his head. What is he doing, doodling in math class? He needs to get over this. It isn't the end of the world, he tells himself. The team is strong, and will continue to thrive next year with Momo and Kaidou -- and Echizen, if he chooses to stay. Life will go on. Everything is all right.

Oishi gently erases his doodling and tunes in to Shino-sensei's lecture. He distracts himself with mathematics, pretending that all the words and numbers don't just fall through a gash hidden deep in his heart.

\- - -

The good guys _don't_ always win, no matter what they would have you believe. Sometimes, it isn't easy to tell who the good guys are in the first place. Sometimes there are no good guys. Life doesn't have protagonists. Life has point-of-views and agendas.

Still, it would have been nice to win against Hyoutei, Eiji thinks as he stares out the window. The weather is so beautiful and perfect for tennis, but the third years in the club may as well have retired already. Seigaku isn't advancing any further in the tournaments this year. The season is over apart from training the younger club members in preparation for next year.

Next year is a fresh start -- not only for the new Seigaku team, but also for the graduating third years as they go on to high school and a world of new starts and opportunities.

Eiji feels a slight twinge as he remembers that, next year, the team won't be the same. Their merrily dysfunctional band of Regulars is breaking apart. Tezuka, at least, is certain to continue -- and also Inui, however surprising that might seem to some people. But Taka-san is quitting tennis in order to concentrate on his training as a sushi chef. And Oishi -- Oishi has promised his family that he will drop tennis in high school and focus more on his studies.

Eiji isn't exactly thrilled with _that_ prospect (and, he knows, neither is Tezuka). This year has been a let-down for all of them, but Eiji feels his own personal hurt cut even deeper beneath the general sense of defeat. 

If Oishi quits tennis, then what about their promise to each other? Their dream is to go to nationals together as the number one doubles pair on the junior high tennis scene...

Eiji watches a butterfly breeze past the window. That dream is slipping away, even as he sits here in class, tuning out the teacher with all the skill of someone who has long practiced the art.

But then again, he thinks, this is life, and the good guys never get the happy endings that they deserve.

\- - -

His parents are not happy with this. His doctor is disappointed that he has managed to injure his arm yet _again_. Ryuuzaki-sensei is her usual self, solid and reassuring, but he can still sense her disappointment, like a weak wave of resignation.

All in all, it feels as though his junior high tennis career has been a disaster from beginning to end.

Tezuka looks away from the window, having had enough of the sight of airplanes and runway and more airplanes. He is already imprisoned in an airplane himself, waiting for the runway to clear of twelve other flights. It will take a while.

A small part of his mind refuses to quiet down, a constant voice that repeats, over and over again: _You shouldn't be here. What are you doing on an airplane? You should be with your team, back at Seigaku, training with them in preparation for the rest of the Kantou Tournament. You shouldn't be here._

But he is, and what can he do to change that?

Tezuka knows that Oishi is blaming himself, probably at this very moment, for letting the team down. Tezuka knows that Inui is debating with himself whether honesty or victory was worth more, whether or not he should have told the referee about the smash that was out by three millimeters. Tezuka knows that Echizen is disappointed -- and also frustrated that they were unable to win. That he was unable to do anything to change that.

Tezuka also feels that, most of all, _he_ is the one who has let the team down. It is an unreasonable assumption, he knows, but the feeling is there, nevertheless, mingled with the echoes of Seigaku.

A loss simply does not suit them, even if they played hard and played well, and gave 100% of what they had. 

100% is not enough for Seigaku.

A "good game" is not enough for Seigaku.

It is not enough for Tezuka Kunimitsu, as much as he tries to deny the feeling of dissatisfaction lodged in his chest.

He closes his eyes, wishing that his flight would take off and leave the ground behind.


End file.
